A kidnapped teacher should never have to introduce himself to the internet before his country remembers to fight for him, but that is exactly where Nigeria now finds itself.
Development Diaries reports that, somewhere around the forests bordering the Old Oyo National Park, after gunmen attacked two schools in Oriire on 15 May, an Islamic Studies teacher named Oyedokun M.O. appeared in a disturbing video from captivity.
Calm but visibly distressed, he identified himself, stated his profession, and pleaded for help as Nigerians watched the video spread across social media. Days later, another video surfaced showing that he had been brutally killed.
Following his death, outrage spread across the country as politicians issued condemnations, Governor Seyi Makinde held regular security briefings, security agencies announced arrests and rescue operations, and the Senate reacted, while social media filled with mourning and anger.
But amid the familiar cycle of national outrage and eventual movement to the next crisis, one disturbing question remained unanswered about why a man in captivity believed appealing to strangers online offered a better chance of survival than relying on the Nigerian state to rescue him.
That exposes the dangerous relationship Nigerians increasingly have with public institutions, as citizens no longer simply wait for the government to act.
Nigeria’s security problem has quietly become a communication problem, too, with terror groups no longer relying only on guns and kidnappings, as they now understand the power of fear, spectacle, and viral messaging better than many government institutions do.
Every video from captivity is carefully designed to send a message, and the message is not only to the victim’s family.
What happened to Oyedokun also reveals something uncomfortable about how rescue and empathy now work in Nigeria. Victims are increasingly expected to perform their pain publicly before institutions respond with urgency.
Families of kidnapped Nigerians have learned, through bitter experience, that social media pressure often works faster than official procedures. In many communities, people now believe that if your tragedy does not trend, your chances of help become smaller.
That is not how a functioning state is supposed to operate.
The burden becomes even heavier for ordinary Nigerians without wealth, influence, or political connections. When powerful people are abducted, the machinery of response often moves with impressive speed.
Women carry an especially painful share of this crisis, as they appear in videos from captivity pleading for rescue while the country watches helplessly through phone screens.
The circulation of violent videos is also slowly changing Nigeria itself. Beheading clips, hostage messages, and scenes of brutality now appear on social media beside football highlights, comedy skits, and celebrity gossip, with violence woven into everyday public life in ways many people no longer stop to question.
Nigeria’s constitution guarantees the right to life and the dignity of every citizen. Those rights mean more than simply telling the government not to kill people. They also mean the state has a duty to build systems capable of protecting lives effectively and responding credibly when danger comes.
What Nigeria needs now is stronger institutional communication that prioritises citizens instead of political optics. Crisis response should not depend on videos going viral, while families of victims should not be left carrying the emotional burden of forcing institutions to act.
Citizens deserve clear rescue protocols, rapid official communication, named accountability officers, and systems that treat victims as human beings first rather than statistics presented during another security briefing.
